


this empty northern hemisphere

by flailingthroughsanity



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Growing Up Together, Introspection, Light Angst, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 15:57:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17287079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flailingthroughsanity/pseuds/flailingthroughsanity
Summary: Every frame of Shiro he has burned in his mind: a pencil extended in the air, a smile under a fringe, his shadow chasing him across the field, a locked gaze in the middle of a stadium, ochre glowing under dim light, gold turned steel turned taupe, seared into the drum beating between Keith’s two lungs.(How long do souls linger in their bodies? When Shiro smiles, and Keith’s heart starts stuttering instead of beating, fluttering like a bird — oscillating between hope and fear, is that what trembles the edges of the candle flame?)Keith’s six, and twelve, and sixteen and twenty-two and still in love with Shiro.





	this empty northern hemisphere

**Author's Note:**

> So, I was sifting through my music playlist today and I ended up at Amy Lee's cover of 'Love Exists', and the translation was a beautiful description for love, and i thought to myself: hey, about time you wrote a school AU right?
> 
> I'm sorry lmao
> 
> [Amy Lee - Love Exists](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UHvGpxOMN6U)
> 
> [Francesca Michielin - L'amore Esiste](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rMTfM28wAf8)

Keith is six-years old.   
  
Tokyo is scary. Looking back, it may not seem as scary as it was when he was six – it’s more crowded than scary, drearier and depressing but not as scary or maybe Keith’s just found a lot more things to be afraid of: unemployment, no life plans, maybe getting fired. Shiro would call it Adult Fears™ and, maybe they are, but they’re the kind of fears that wrap his mind now, completely and vastly unlike his six-year old fears. It must be nice, when you’re six-years old, and your only fears were big buildings, the monster you were sure was under your bed, never being able to catch the next episode of Eto Rangers or when James took his favorite purple ballpen and would not give it back.   
  
It’s the kind of childish – childish isn’t the right term, he feels; childlike, maybe – fears that would seem real to a six-year old, and Keith looks back on it in fondness (and maybe a little embarrassment).   
  
Keith is six-years old, and Tokyo is scary.   
  
Scary would be an understatement, when Tokyo was the earth he had stepped on after a flight across the world, saying goodbye to the suburban skies of Westover Hills with his backpack in the trunk, and a gaze through the tinted windows mapping the reddish bricks of the town hall. Tokyo was a world and a galaxy away, bursting in steel-lined giants awash in neon lights, holding none of the slate grey roof tiles of Hunk’s house.   
  
His mother pats his back and he looks up, small hands on the straps of his backpack, and the classroom door is open and he turns to see dozens of heads looking at him and he turns back to his mother, afraid.   
  
His mother kneels, combing his hair and she smiles. “Come on, honey. It’s your first day, aren’t you excited?”   
  
Keith shakes his head, not looking at her. The teacher is standing by the door, politely giving him time to man up — funny how the first day of class in a strange school where the rest of the kids talked more of the language his papa did could terrify him. “I don’t wanna.”   
  
His mother frowns a bit. “But you said you were excited, remember?”   
  
Keith remembers, but he was thinking of Westover and his classmates Ryan, Ina and Dia – not this new class, and no friend to call or to sit beside or to borrow a pencil from.   
  
“Can you give try, for mama?” She asks, and Keith wants to say no but he knows that his mother was running late. He might be six-years old but he’s a little smart for his age, and he knows that his mother had to get to work.   
  
Even though his hands were clammy and he was afraid, he nodded, relenting. She smiled, kissed his cheek and hugged him close. He hugged her back, inhaling her lavender scent before she let go and thanked the teacher. If he could just focus on her scent, remember the promise he made his papa before they took that step up the airport — maybe he can get through this. He’ll just wait, and nod, and maybe he’ll be back in their new house, where the walls were thinner, and he can snuggle into his father’s side and forget about being scared.   
  
“I’ll see you later, okay? Just wait by the stairs and I’ll come get you.” He nodded at his mother’s words, and waved back as she hurried down the hall. He kept his gaze on her, even when the teacher slowly ushered him in.

Keith expected her to go, but she stayed, and her purple eyes shone with pride as he nodded at her and stepped inside.   
  
“Why don’t we get you settled in, Keith?” His teacher spoke, and he turned back to her and nodded, holding on to his backpack’s straps. He followed her to the center of the room, on top of a wooden pedestal and she turned to the class. Keith tried his best not to look at any of them in the eye, aware of their staring, aware of how utterly different he was.   
  
“Alright, so we’ve got a new classmate here. He just came from America, so I hope everyone here will be nice to him. Is that understood?” A chorus of ‘yes’ followed, but Keith didn’t miss the whispers going around and he held on to his straps tighter.   
  
A hand tapped his shoulder. “Why don’t you introduce yourself, Keith?”   
  
Her pronunciation of his name was wonky, but he didn’t care, focused on the alarm rising in him. Keith swallowed and stepped forward, although he tried his best not to shake. He wasn’t used to being in the center of attention, and more so when he was asked to speak but he tried. He wasn’t used to speaking in Japanese, and only his papa could make him do it, but he has to. For mama.   
  
He only got to mumbling out his name, which the teacher asked him to repeat – mumbling out “Kongane” instead of “Kogane”.   
  
“Well,” the teacher said, voice cheery in spite of Keith’s awkward introduction. “It’s very nice to meet you, Keith. Why don’t you take the seat there, next to Takashi?”    
  
He nods, happy to hurry to his chair and evade the gaze of much of the class. He places his bag on the floor, and surreptitiously looks to his side – to the Takashi guy his teacher had pointed. The other had his face turned to him, probably in curiousity, and Keith turns his gaze back to his own desk, not wanting to meet the other’s eyes.   
  
The teacher continued, discussing about homeroom rules and their schedules and sets of classes. Keith tried to follow, to the best of his abilities, but he was still getting used to the classroom and being in the presence of so many strangers, let alone the speed of her Japanese. He let his eyes wander, as secretly as he can, and he was half-hoping, half-wishing to see Ryan grinning at him, eyes crinkling under his thick hair or see Dia waving at him before being reprimanded by the teacher for not listening. All he saw were strangers, in his new school uniform, and he could see them talking to each other when the teacher’s back was turned and Keith suddenly felt lonely: he had no friends here, he was by himself.   
  
The teacher started writing down notes on the board, and Keith looked around and saw his classmates copying. Bending down, he opened his bag and grabbed his notebook and pencil. Only to find the end broken, probably from all his jostling with the bag, and when he searched through his things, realized he didn’t have another one or even a sharpener to fix it.   
  
When he looked back up, the teacher turned to them and saw him, notebook closed. She smiled, and although her voice was nice and cheery, there was a faint warning in her words. “Keith, make sure to copy everything I’m writing down. I’ll be checking everyone’s notebooks after.”   
  
She turned back and resumed writing, and Keith panicked. His first day, and he was already messing up. He didn’t want to disappoint mother, or his teacher, and he tried to searching through his bag again, whining a little when he couldn’t find anything to write with. Bad enough he had to overthink every word they said, translating as fast as he could in his head, he didn’t want to add a scolding to the pile.   
  
It wasn’t until he felt a tapping on his shoulder, and turned to see another student holding out a pencil.   
  
“Huh?” He croaks out, looking from the pencil to the student. The other shook the pencil, and smiled.   
  
“I have an extra. You can borrow this.”   
  
Keith raises a hand, holding on to the pencil and still unsure with what was happening – merely breathing out the words the most careful way he could. “Thank you. I’ll take care of it, promise.”   
  
His classmate smiled wider, and there was something honest about the smile. “You’re welcome, Keith.”   
  
He bit his lips, nodding but he still kept his gaze on the other, unsure as to what to say.   
  
“I’m Takashi, but everyone calls me Shiro.”   
  
The other grins wide, taupe eyes crinkling—

—and Keith finally smiles.

* * *

Shiro is everything Keith is not.   
  
At twelve, he’s good-looking, talented, popular and smart. He was handsome, but it wasn’t the magnetic pull Ryan had. Shiro’s was a different kind of beauty — a smile ready in place, a gentle word always itching to escape his lips. He had a wonderful voice, and he had many opportunities to showcase it — the Christmas recital in first grade, during his own birthday party when he was eight, and in sixth grade when he was asked to sing the national anthem during the morning assembly. A lot of the girls swooned when he sang, and Keith can see why: with a voice dripping like honey, thick and sweet, Shiro could sing anyone off their feet. He was also ridiculously smart – although not the straight A student that some of his classmates were (Shiro did have his off days) – he always spoke well when asked to participate, had wonderful insight and was, more often than not, always asked to be the group leader for projects (as group leaders, Keith remembers in middle school, were always synonymous with “the guys who did the entire project”). All three of these qualities more or less pushed Shiro up the popularity list; everyone wanted him: the soccer team for practice and for school games, the glee club for his voice, the debate team for his wit and he was a shoe-in for an award during graduation.   
  
Keith is everything Shiro is not.   
  
At twelve, he is awkward and quiet and the total opposite of Shiro. Keith has always been a quiet kid, more on the side of introspection and creativity. He wasn’t as athletic or energetic as Shiro – he preferred to be at the sides of any sports game, wishing he could disappear into the bleachers whenever the instructor turned to look for volunteers (he couldn’t face being the center of attention of so many people and fuck up when he tried to kick a soccer ball or even hit a volleyball back). He wasn’t talented – his mother has always mentioned that he had a good voice, and Keith did like music and singing above other things, but he wasn’t classically trained like Shiro. He sang rock songs in the vicinity of his room, sometimes even late at night when he should be asleep (his mother would shout at him to go to sleep from her room and Keith would freeze up and feel his face redden), turning a reedy, out-of-tune voice into something resembling decency: but he didn’t have Shiro’s vast experience, or his confidence, and he kept his singing under the wraps. He did well in class, the seldom A in a span of Bs – not someone dumb, or desperate enough to pass, but someone ordinary, someone completely unremarkable – and he did manage to do well even in oral participation, but not better than most of his classmates. Keith wasn’t a wallflower, but he was merely a face in the crowd – someone you can pass by in the streets, maybe recognize, but not someone you turned your head to take a second glance—   
  
Shiro flopped down on the bench across the table Keith was at, and the other spied some female students giggling on a nearby table – pointing at Shiro. 

—and he was certainly not someone girls pointed to and giggled at each other in the corner.   
  
“Man, I am starving.” Shiro groans, letting his head flop back before collapsing over the table. Keith moved his tray, letting Shiro’s hands smack on the surface. He was a bit sweaty, hair slightly disheveled but Keith detected a trace of cedar and he hid a smile behind the juice box in his hands.   
  
Shiro turned his head, looking up at Keith from beneath his fringe. “Feed me.”   
  
Shaking his head, feeling amused at the other’s antics, Keith grabbed the Tupperware box his mother had packed with food and poked Shiro’s arm with its edge. “Here, before you die of starvation and your fangirls would mourn for years.”   
  
Shiro ignored the tail end of his sentence, grabbing the box and pulling off the cover. He gasped in delight as he caught sight of the maki rolls. He aimed to grab one with his bare hand, and Keith slapped it off, handing a pair of chopsticks.   
  
“Fine,” Shiro mutters and picks a roll with the chopsticks, stuffing it into his mouth and Keith’s pretty sure he barely even chewed it before Shiro was swallowing it down. He doesn’t understand how someone good-looking and smart and talented was this much of a slob, to be honest, but he doesn’t really mind (Shiro would often think otherwise).   
  
“Ah,” Shiro lets out a positively indecent groan and Keith frowns, hearing the giggling girls whine and screech in the background at Shiro. “Your mom makes the best rolls, and she always remembers to put in mangoes.”   
  
Keith smiles, and he remembers his mom packing more rolls into his lunch box than usual.   
  
_ “I know you don’t like it when I put mangoes in, so this one is for Shiro, and this is for you, okay? ” _ She had said that morning, pushing his lunchbox into his hands.   
  
Sometimes, when he looks back on it, it wasn’t the fact that Shiro was talented, or smart or popular or good-looking that drew Keith to him. He recall someone more good-looking, like James back in Westover, or smart – like Ina, in spite of her occasional rebellious streak. There was something magnetic and charming about Shiro, and maybe because it’s only with Keith that he can be like this: flopping over the table, hands unwashed, sweaty. He knows Shiro sometimes trembles under the expectations of other people, his own parents, and Keith guesses it’s just how life is: be remotely good at something, and people expect you to be good, or even better, over time. To Shiro, who was good with everything, he could never afford to not be.   
  
To Coach Kurogane, he was the star player. Keith had been privy to the many times he sat by the bleachers, watching Shiro play and even though Keith had relatively no idea about the mechanics of soccer, he could see that Shiro really was as good as people made him out to be. To teacher Seido, the glee club moderator, Shiro was his number one performer and even though his friend was juggling academics, sports and now music at school, he never failed to make her proud, singing his eleven-year old voice out to the tune of Music of the Night. Don’t even get him started on Mr. Hiroshi’s debates or his pop quiz, which Shiro did so well (and Keith was once again privy to the late nights on the phone, hearing his friend groan about how tired he was studying – of course, Keith would be playing video games and pass the quiz the next day on a measly C).   
  
Most of all, though, he can still remember his first day in Tokyo, six-years old and turning to find Shiro holding out a pencil. That was probably the greatest reason why, in spite of their vast differences, Keith held on to the friendship with Shiro.   
  
Someone sits beside him, and turns to see their other friend, Aki, with her own tray. “Jeez, clean up after yourself, Shirogane. Keith, would you like some gelato?”   
  
Both boys turn and watch Aki pop open the plastic container and their eyes widen at the dessert nestled inside. Shiro reaches out, with his grubby hand, and Aki picks up a stick and pushes his hand away.   
  
“I said clean up after yourself. Why can’t you be neat like Keith?”   
  
Shiro rolls his eyes. “Why does it even matter, they’re still gonna get dirty later on! Tell her, man!”   
  
Keith chuckles to himself, still feeling amused by the squabble – it’s been going on for a year now, ever since Aki moved and joined their class at the start of the year. The giggling in the background turn to harsh whispering and hissing and Keith wonders how Aki can ignore the jealousy of Shiro’s fangirls.   
  
Shiro reaches out again and Aki barks back at him.   
  
“Keith, Shiro whined, looking up at Keith. He looked adorable like that, eyes wide under his fringe.   
  
Aki grumbled, pouting at him. Honestly, these two – in spite of their outward arguing – were too alike for their own good. Sometimes, Keith resents being a year older and starting late in school.   
  
Shiro sees Aki pouting, and then decides to copy her and Keith knows he’s made up his mind before he even opened his mouth. “Just give him a bit, Aki.”   
  
Aki groused while Shiro celebrates, and Keith can’t stop himself from smiling at the other’s energy, reaching up to tug Keith into his arms for a hug. Keith pretends to be annoyed, weakly fighting against Shiro and angling his head away because no matter how perfect Shiro may seem, sweat still stunk – especially that of a prepubescent boy.   
  
“It’s not fair, you’re always taking his side.” Aki whined, eyes shooting annoyed glances at Shiro as the other grabbed Keith’s used spoon and took a big scoop. “He said only a bit. Hey, stop taking so much! Shirogane!”   
  
“He likes me best!” Shiro sang around the spoon in his mouth, ignoring Aki’s growing complaints.   
  
And maybe she was right, Keith thinks. Maybe Keith can be blamed for always taking Shiro’s side – but how can he stop himself? 

Shiro may be everything that Keith was not, but he was still there. 

He held out a pencil, lending it to Keith and starting a bond at six-years old; he stayed over at Keith’s place when his parents were out of town (and they were always out of town, working) and they had spent many nights under the same blanket, a lone flashlight and their imagination keeping them awake until they fell asleep over one another at two in the morning (to his own mom’s amusement); Shiro was there when other classmates would make fun of him back when he still had his accent, or when his lisp would become noticeable, or when his verbs got mixed up, and Shiro would stand in front of Keith, straight and proud and brave and everything Keith wanted to be and he would tell the jeering kids “go away, losers!”, and though the others would not stop laughing and jeering, having Shiro there was enough.   
  
Keith had never asked these things of Shiro, and the other never offered; but somehow, somewhere, the pieces just fell into place and it felt right.   
  
No one can blame him for always taking the other’s side; they were best friends after all.

* * *

High school, along with adolescence and puberty, brought along with it a myriad of changes. Gone were the days spent under the sun, across the fields, playing, chasing each other – hide and seek, tag – every other game they could all make up just to have something to play. Gone were the moments, running back home to curl in front of the television, Beast King GoLion and Pokémon and Yu-Gi-Oh playing, maybe a Playstation on and they’d end up battling each other in Bloody Roar or Tekken. Gone were the carefree, innocent days of childhood.   
  
High school, being sixteen, brought along with it its own responsibilities. You’re not a child anymore; you’re sixteen, you should start acting more maturely, start considering things more seriously. Cartoons and video games didn’t matter that much in the long run anymore — studies, college applications and your circle of friends started taking center stage.   
  
Keith was no longer the awkward kid the way he was back in middle school. Yes, he was still prone to the occasional bout of silence, but he’s learned to be more approaching of other people. He was no longer the runt of the group, he’s grown in the years between twelve and sixteen, almost as tall as Shiro, and he’s learned to keep himself decent and neat. He’s learned to style his hair, dress himself well. He wasn’t the popular student on the block, but he’s learned not to look like a loser at the very least, or according to Aki, anyway.   
  
Shiro, on the other hand, just grew more and more good-looking. His slender physique had gone, replaced by a muscular body – days spent on the soccer field keeping his frame fit and healthy and good – burning brighter, searing Polaris, dark hair and taupe eyes gleaming bright and magnetic.   
  
They’re no longer each other’s worlds, but they still continue to orbit, although in bigger, wider circles now. They’ve learned to have friends outside of each other, but in the end – one thing that remained, and it will always keep Keith happy – was that they were still best friends. He kew friendships made in childhood didn’t often last, and he was happy that his with Shiro showed no signs of deteriorating.   
  
They were still each other’s best buddy, their names on speed dial of each other’s phones, always the number one message in the inbox. He has a set of clothes over at Shiro’s place, and his best friend had some – even underwear! – at Keith’s place, meshed right in between Keith’s clothes for every day.   
  
He turned his gaze to the window, and looked over the field, and he could set Shiro aside, even at a distance, running, chasing after a ball, hair flopping in the wind. He’s gotten really good, and Keith sighs.   
  
“Care to tell us what’s on your mind, Mr. Kogane?”   
  
And Keith jumps, smiling sheepishly, as he turns back to his English teacher and shakes his head, ignoring Aki cackling behind him. Some things never changed: he still found classes boring.   
  


 

They were walking to the tables at the quad, relishing the cool air and the blue sky. It was three in the afternoon, and although it was bright, it wasn’t as hot as it usually was in the summer, and it seems everyone was in the mind to take advantage of the wonderful weather.   
  
He sat on the bench, and Aki across him, pulling out a Tupperware from her bag. Keith hums. “I thought you finished all that during lunch?”   
  
Aki shook her head, grinning into the tteokbokki in her Tupperware. “Nope, that was the yakiniku, and the natto.”   
  
“And you're still not full?” Keith asked, watching her pick up a huge cut of rice cake and stuffing it into her mouth.   
  
“You should know by now that I have a lovely appetite.” She answered with a full mouth and he grimaces, reminded again as to how similar she and Shiro were. She pushed the Tupperware to him, but he shook his head, not hungry and content to just relax in the cool breeze.   
  
He frowned, smelling something a little rancid, before he felt weight on the bench and turned to find Shiro – sweaty and stinking – flopping down beside him.   
  
“Ugh, can you please go take a shower or something?” Aki complained, but she made no move to cover her nose – just kept on eating. She’s probably used to this, has been for years.   
  
“I agree.” Keith says, turning his head away from Shiro. The other rolled his eyes, and pushed his sweaty hair into the side of Keith’s neck. “Am I grossing you out, buddy?”   
  
He pushed the head away, grabbing onto hair and pulling it. Shiro grumbled in pain, reaching a hand up. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Jeez, dude, you’re worse than Aki is.”   
  
They both ignored the “I trained him well” from the other side of the table.   
  
Shiro pulled out his own Tupperware from his bag, and when he opened it – both Keith and Aki looked in and rolled back in disgust. Aki bit out, frowning. “What in the world is that?”   
  
“Fucking food, that’s what,” Shiro bit back, although they’re not sure if it’s at them or at his own meal as he was also grimacing. “Coach wants us to build our endurance, so he’s planning everything out – even our own meals.”   
  
Keith shook his head, watching Shiro pick through the pale, chicken breast. It didn’t even look like it cooked. “He has too much time on his hands.”

Aki nodded. “He should just make a move and hook up with Ms. Seido and they could both stop torturing us.”   
  
Shiro made an agreeing sound, miserably stuffing himself with the bland chicken and the lettuce mixed in, looking forlornly at Aki’s rice cakes.   
  
In high school, some things change and some things don’t.   
  
It’s when Keith stops, watching (more than listening) Shiro and Aki bickering – back and forth, gochujang sauce flying all over the table and Keith moves a bit and narrowly escapes one hitting his shirt. It’s when Shiro turns to him, mouth full and eyes flashing as he rounds up another bout of arguing with Aki that Keith holds a hand out – growing bored of the fighting – and covers Shiro’s mouth.   
  
Shiro muttered something like “Keith” but he really can’t make it out from under his own hand and Aki rolls her eyes. When he lowers his hand, Shiro pouts, lower lip trembling and looking like a beaten down puppy for all the world to see and Keith pauses, taking in Shiro, and the pounding in his chest suddenly grows louder and louder, a drumbeat unceasing and relentless.   
  
Some things don’t change, like the three of them and their friendship.   
  
And some things do change, like the way his voice goes from light to deep, and how his body fills out more these days. He’s also moodier now, sometimes even arguing with his mother.   
  
Looking at Shiro, sweaty and smelly and the exact opposite of how he normally is (perfect), Keith suddenly realizes that the pounding in his chest isn’t normal.   
  
“You okay?” And Shiro puts a hand out and feels his neck.   
  
Keith fights the urge to tremble at his touch. He knows that’s not normal.   
  
High school brought with it a lot of changes, and nothing was more shocking, more life-changing than realizing he had the biggest crush in the world on his best friend.   
  
Looking back, Keith shouldn’t have been surprised.   
  
He has always been close to Shiro, even closer to him than he was to Aki and that wasn’t an unknown thought – Shiro was, after all, his first friend. He’s been with Shiro, growing up, through childhood and scarred knees and growth spurts, through graduation and awkward middle school crushes, through nervous first day of high school, and now they’re here: senior year and ready for another chapter of their lives.   
  
He’s seen Shiro in all shades of life: six-years old, snot running down his nose as he watches his parents go out of town for work again, holding Keith’s hand and trying to cheer him up as best as possible; twelve-years old, through the mandatory bad hair days of middle school, and the hordes of girls crushing on him; now at sixteen, cusp of high school, their bodies more mature yet they still felt completely at ease with one another, even when Shiro would barge into his room (completely uninvited) and strip his shirt off, using his own bathroom (Keith had stopped asking  why a few years back), or when Keith – with his traitorous and hormonal body – would pop a boner early in the morning and he’d awaken to find Shiro laughing silently at him, at six in the morning, pointing to the tent in his pyjamas. Well, his face would be red but the way he manhandled Shiro to the floor was nothing new. He’s seen his fair share of Shiro boners in the morning, too.   
  
Perhaps it’s because of the familiarity, how easy they were with each other – years of friendship, through fights and bloody noses and quiet, genuine apologies obstinately spoken – perhaps the ease with which he was with Shiro that made the realization all the more surprising.   
  
Because not even once, in Keith’s wildest dreams, did he ever imagine the way Shiro would bite his lips would affect him this greatly, setting his heart on fire and his body warm. It should be impossible, improbable and illogical – the way Shiro’s smile made Keith smile without fail, how his bright eyes crinkling in fondness should tighten his chest in this painful – almost deliciously so – manner that spoke so much about what he felt, that it was more than flesh, past skin and down to something far primal and deep.   
  
“Hey, are you okay? You’ve been really quiet lately.” Shiro says later on. They’re on the roof of Shiro’s house, crawling through the attic window – something they’ve discovered back when they were eight, when the wooden beams were castle towers and windows were gilded gates, the entire world a play.   
  
He remembered how they found it: at the tender age of eight where they grew bored of a lot of things, it was to a chanced game of hide and seek, with Keith running up the stairs and hiding inside a random door he closed after himself. It was a small room, half of Shiro’s living room, and it was filled with stacks of boxes and a window near the high ceiling. Of course, being mesmerized and curious about the room, Keith failed to hear Shiro coming up the stairs. He was found, unsurprisingly, but they both got curious about the window and where it led to. A ladder lay off to the side, and although unfolding it took a while for two small eight-year olds, they managed to succeed (Keith’s once pristine white shirt was another story). Climbing up the step and pushing the window open, the two found themselves on a landing right outside the window, flat enough, resting between the roof slates. It was small, almost unnoticeable, but it was large enough for two young boys to lie down and stare at the stars.   
  
“How many times have we been here?” Keith asked, instead, remembering the nights spent looking up at stars – nights with Shiro’s parents out of town, and Keith by his side, making jokes, trying to ease the frown on Shiro’s lips. He remembered considering it a success every time those down-turned corners would twitch, when those taupe-colored eyes would turn from the dark sky to meet his.   
  
Shiro turned about, looking around the landing and across – where the sky was turning a fiery gold, like molten flames. They were large enough that it was impossible to lie down comfortably (and also at the risk of rolling down the roof and landing in a splat down on the ground) but they could still sit with their backs to the wall next to the window, heads resting on the sturdy material.   
  
“More times than we could count, to be honest.” The other remarked, and there’s a trace of humor in his voice. Keith turned to his best friend and paused, studying his profile. He takes in the dark hair, swaying in the afternoon wind, his gaze somewhere distant, nose sharp and pointed, lips slightly open (lower lip full and Keith stares a little longer at that). Shiro was really good-looking, that Keith couldn’t deny. The years only strengthened his beauty, his cheeks hollowing, losing childhood fat and leaving a maturity that gave him a kind of ruggedness that Keith felt all over his body. His skin had gone from that milky white to a golden tan, from days spent under the sun training, and Shiro glowed like that, lit by orange sunlight at rest — a picturesque image, a beautiful young man in repose.   
  
The way Keith’s chest throbbed and his hands ached to do something – hold on to Shiro, kiss him, freeze him in time forever and ever so he’ll never have to let go of this moment.   
  
“Do you know what day it is?” Shiro asked, and he looks at Keith.   
  
Keith pursed his lips, holding back the gasp that wanted to escape his lungs, as sunlight and shadow painted Shiro’s silhouette in a golden outline, his eyes shining – bright and molten, bleeding ochre and flame-tinged amber.   
  
He shakes his head, looking away from Shiro and over to the views in the distance, sees the roofs of so many houses, the sharp edges of the occasional tree, and Shinjuku’s skyscraper heart in the distance.   
  
Shiro hummed and Keith feels, rather than sees, Shiro turn away and pick on the end of his shoe. Keith followed the way his finger chips at the side of his sneakers, and he remembered days spent at the park, watching the white Converse fade to a messy, grey, smudged with dirt but still well-loved, well-worn—little pocketmarks of time. “You really don’t know?”   
  
Keith shook his head, and looked at Shiro, a little confused. His best friend was sometimes weird like that, remembering odd dates of things Keith never really considered important.   
  
Shiro inserted his hand in his pocket and pulled out something long and slender, and Keith takes a moment to realize it’s a pencil.   
  
Shiro held out the pencil, and he looked up his fringe at Keith – eyes golden in the setting sun – and whispered in a quiet, happy voice. “I have an extra. You can borrow this.”   
  
Keith’s breath caught in his throat. Funny, he doesn’t remember breathing whenever Shiro was around.   
  
He counted the days in his head and his eyes widen. The sixth of August. The first day of class.   
  
The first time he met Shiro.   
  
With a faintly trembling hand, Keith took the other end of the pencil and he understands, finally: he doesn’t really need a reason, he just loves Shiro.

* * *

He doesn’t say anything. He couldn’t.   
  
He didn’t want to lose Shiro.   
  
Even if it hurt, keeping it in the shadows, his love growing in darkness.   
  
Shiro would run across the field, the cheering from the bleachers reaching deafening heights, and Keith would be there — because,  _ of course, _ he’d be there — and he’d stand and scream like the rest, waving, dressed in their school colors and he doesn’t know if the rest cheer for the team or for one person, if their eyes made chase for the whipping hair, or the sharp eyes calculating each move, or if they saw none of the entirety of what Keith would always see.   
  
He just knows that it’s only Shiro he’s cheering for, eyes running after the flopping mane and the elated look on his face as he ran fast, ball just as quick in between his feet and when he shoots a goal, eyes wide – paused – before they widen some more and the whole stadium explodes in a cheer, Keith could only stand and look at Shiro, heart in his throat, immensely proud and fond and in love.   
  
And Shiro would turn to the crowd, hands raised, cheering along – sweaty and red and euphoric — and it should be impossible, improbable, the way Shiro would scan the crowds and find him, eyes locked and his wide smile would turn small, into a much gentler one, lips tight and eyes bright, a smile just for Keith.

(How long do souls linger in their bodies? When Shiro smiles, and Keith’s heart starts stuttering instead of beating, fluttering like a bird — oscillating between hope and fear, is that what trembles the edges of the candle flame?)    
  
He doesn’t know what to make of it, what to make of that special smile and he just smiles back – because what else can he do? What else he can do but smile back, wanting so much more but afraid to take that one step – because what if it doesn’t work?   
  
What if nothing goes right?   
  
What if he can no longer call Shiro his best friend?   
  
What if he can no longer wake up in the morning, and find his best friend sprawled next to him in his bed, probably having snuck in through his bedroom window the night before?   
  
What if he can no longer sit beside him at lunch, laughing with Aki as Shiro forked through the tasteless meal prepared by his coach?   
  
What if he can no longer feel his warmth, arms pressed against one another, as they sit on that landing, watching sunsets go and watching stars – Andromeda, Orion and Pegasus – come alive, and they’d name some after themselves or something else entirely made up?   
  
A thousand “what ifs” drive through his mind every time he looks across, wanting more than an arm around the shoulder, a hug that lasted a second (far too quick for him to be satisfied) or a shared gaze that hid a million secrets.   
  
“Did you see me there?” Shiro asked, panting and excited, and he always finds Keith – even through the throngs of people crowding around him to congratulate, to talk – it was always Keith first. Aki was part of their circle, a close friend, but Keith took center stage.   
  
And for a moment, Keith felt happy to be that: that for a mere moment, he was the world Shiro orbited around (or perhaps the other way around).   
  
“Yeah,” Keith answered, smiling – unable to hide his pride, he was practically glowing with it.   
  
Shiro looks at him, smiling that small smile, and suddenly he looks down and he says out, in a quiet voice. “Thank you.”   
  
A random, rare moment of shyness had his heart beating so hard, it threatened to announce his secrets to the world, but Keith breathed on, grasping the other’s shoulder and – fuck it, he’s allowed to have this: he thinks, as he pulled Shiro into him, tight and warm. He doesn’t care about the sweat staining his shirt, or that they were in the presence of so many people all looking at them.   
  
He feels Shiro’s arms around his sides, holding him close and steady, and he feels the other’s breath and Keith closed his eyes, feeling content, the slump of Shiro’s muscles, relaxed and safe in his arms.   
  
Reality drops in, as a gaggle of giggling girls approach and Keith pulls away, smiling at Shiro – who was looking up at him, eyes wide and that special smile still on his lips. “You did really well.”   
  
_ You’re always perfect, _ Keith thinks.  _ Even asleep on my bed, mouth open and snoring. A lot of people like you because you’re smart, and you’re good-looking and talented. I don’t, though. I love that you’re smart, I love that you’re handsome, and I love that you’re talented – I love all the parts that make you who you are, but what made me fall in love with you in the first place was something else entirely: you were kind. You were kind, you reached out to me when I was alone. You were my first friend here and, suddenly, you’re more than that now – suddenly, I want you everywhere, in all parts of my life. I don’t just want a night of video games, of looking across and watching you smirk at me while we play Smash Bros. I don’t just want afternoons spent sitting side-by-side watching the sunset. I don’t just want all that: you’re my first love and I want everything. I want forever. I want you. _   
  
Keith swallowed, a thousand wishes down his throat and into oblivion, letting his litany go unheard as he lets go of Shiro and nodded at him. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”   
  
Shiro nodded back, still looking at him, eyes bright with an emotion that Keith doesn’t allow himself to name. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Keith.”

_ He’s been practicing, _ Keith thought, holding the shiver itching to crawl up his spine at the sound of his name in Shiro’s baritone voice.  _ Say it again. Call me by my name, please. _

(In a blink of his eye, in every hint of his smile, the way goodbye dances on his lips, and every time Shiro finds him.)

They spend a moment, just looking into each other’s eyes, mapping the features they’ve both known for so long – watching them grow from small and untouched to mature – and maybe Shiro takes a while, just continues to stare at him but Keith raises a hand and waves. Shiro waves back, walking backwards, still smiling, still looking at Keith before he turns at the last second, jumping into his team and cheering.   
  
Keith stays a moment, just watching him celebrate, and though it killed him to bottle everything inside, watching Shiro shine, eclipsing the morning star, he knew he’s made the right choice.   
  


* * *

  
The right choice isn’t always the easiest.   
  
In fact, it sometimes can be the hardest thing to do – and you have to remind yourself why you made that choice in the first place; remind yourself every day that it was worth it, worth everything you’re going through – because if it’s not, how can you live with yourself? How can you go on, knowing you’ve made the wrong choices?   
  
It wasn’t college that taught him that, but adulthood. Adulthood brought with it a lot of challenges, challenges that school never prepared you for. Your identity, what you wanted to be, choices that could have repercussions later on – Keith was never prepared for this. He wanted to hold on to the last vestiges of innocence, hold on to what was left of his fading childhood but sometimes, you hold on to dust and can only watch as it faded from your closed fists, disappearing into the air, gone forever.   
  
He walks up the stairs and when he sees the door on the right, third from the landing, Keith feels the exhaustion weighing him down lighten and he’s hurrying, unlocking the door and stepping in. The dormitory is empty when he opens the light, and he takes a moment to glance at Shiro’s bed, still unmade from when he literally rolled out of it this morning. A part of him wanted to smile, fond at how some things don’t change and a part of him ached, eyes going to the wall clock with the date, seeing 08/06 staring back at him.   
  
It was the day of their “friendshippery”, which Shiro intelligently quoted, playing on the word anniversary. Over the years, they had taken to celebrating the day in their own little ways – celebrating a friendship that had lasted since he was six-years old, and now at the age of twenty-two, still as thick as thieves, inseparable.   
  
He glanced at the empty, messy bed and sighs again. He knows he should start for dinner, but he doesn’t feel remotely hungry.   
  
He wanted to celebrate today with Shiro – even though they shared the same room, with their different studies and their own cliques, it was beginning to get difficult to see each other outside their dormitory.   
  
There were times where he would still be asleep, even when it was past eight in the morning and he would touch the surface of being awake, faintly aware of someone moving about and he’d hear Shiro, chuckling and quietly saying “I’ll see you later” and a door closing, and Keith would let himself smile before diving back into peaceful slumber.   
  
And sometimes, Keith would come home really late at night – from staying hours at the music room with his composition teacher, bouncing ideas off one another. When he would come home, the room would be dark and smell faintly of nicotine and sex and he would open the lights, heart twisting as he looks at a sleeping Shiro, bare except for the boxers riding low on muscled hips, blanket hanging off his legs, and Keith bites his lips, knowing that more than sleep happened.   
  
It was one of the things he had to learn over the years, one of the things that made him remind himself about his choice: remind himself that it was all worth it.   
  
That, even though, he could never give Shiro the satisfaction his...dates do, he could be content with his nearness.   
  
Keith sighed, turning away and setting his bag down by the foot of his bed. Maybe he should just sleep this one off. There was still next year to celebrate, and he’s been really tired lately.   
  
There’s a tap on the door, before the knob turned and Keith watched Shiro come in, holding his bag in both hands. It looked suspiciously full, but Keith doesn’t mind that – he’s surprised over something else. He honestly thought Shiro was somewhere else (his throat grows dry, and his fingers curl into his palms painfully as he thinks of dark hair and taupe eyes and lips hot on someone else’s skin), and when he looks at the clock and sees its past nine in the evening, he was just content to go to sleep.   
  
“What are you doing here?” He asked, confused, watching the lumps in Shiro’s bag.   
  
His best friend smiled, or grinned wolfishly for that matter and Keith still feels a rush seeing the excitement in the other’s eyes.   
  
“I thought you were out?”   
  
The other looks up, looking slightly confused, turning to the closed door. “Well, I’m back in.”   
  
Keith frowned.

The other shook his head. “Bad joke, sorry.”

Shiro set the bag down with a sigh and waved a hand at him. “Anyway, enough about that business. Unless you forgot, today is our friendshippery—“   
  
And Keith honestly can’t stop the smile from growing on his face, or the thread of fondness and belongingness running through his veins at Shiro’s words – faceless strangers and cold nights forgotten.   
  
“—and I am not missing a single one. So, deal with it.”   
  
Shiro bent down and opened the bag, pulling out cans of beer and honestly, should Keith still pretend to be surprised? Technically, they weren’t allowed to bring alcohol inside the dormitory but even at twenty-one, in college and studying a, as Shiro would say it himself, boring course like Accountancy – his best friend was still as popular as ever, easily making friends where Keith was more picky. Pretty sure the RA turned a blind eye like he always did whenever Shiro broke the rules.   
  
Keith has half a mind to tell on his best friend, but he doesn’t. He never does.   
  
He’ll always bend backwards for Shiro, although over the years, he’s done a good job of making the other work for it.   
  
He grabbed the can Shiro held out to him and opens it, and lets the beer wash away the exhaustion and lull him into a drug-like warmth that Keith’s grown to appreciate over the years. Shiro takes a swing of his own, and sits on the floor beside Keith.   
  
They just sit there, sipping, and although they can pepper the air with conversation – years, almost two decades of friendship had taught them that sometimes, silence is enough. They drink, one can turning into two and into three and Keith’s mind is foggy, exhaustion gone, and he slightly wonders if Shiro’s bag had some sort of spell on it because the other just kept the cans coming.   
  
The light blurs into dulled spots, refracted colors, and the lines started coalescing, and Keith suddenly feels like he’s floating in space. Something holds on to his hand and pulls him up, and he’s looking at Shiro.   
  
Shiro, Shiro, Shiro.   
  
Eyes wide, dulled ochre in the room’s low light, skin still holding traces of tan, but returning to their fairer tone now that Shiro no longer has the time for soccer; and Keith’s reminded of a thousand years and one of loving him, in every permutation, in every frame of his life.   
  
Childhood. Adolescence. Adulthood.   
  
Shiro was his constant.   
  
Aki had gone to the U.S. after high school, returning to be with her parents and although they had tried to hold on to each other, some bonds just don’t last and they’re all reduced to the occasional message on Facebook, or the random like on Instagram.

A lifetime ago, all he ever wanted was to go back home — to Westover, and his friends and the suburban skies.

But home was here, in the four walls of their college dormitory—and Shiro was always here.

In all the years Keith’s known, his childhood in Westover Hills fading into faint memories (memories of his old friends), Shiro remained – a bright shining star on the horizon, a north star that never flickered, calling him home.   
  
Shiro was his constant.   
  
“Keith,” Shiro whispered, breath fanning across Keith’s lips, and he smells like alcohol and candy and cedar, wonderful cedar. “I miss you.”   
  
Keith doesn’t even hesitate. “I miss you, too.”   
  
His lisp is strong, it always is whenever he was slightly tipsy or drunk, but he doesn’t really mind it now, not when it makes Shiro smile like that, close and genuine and bright and all for Keith. “Your lisp is back.”   
  
Keith nodded, and his view jumps like crazy before he has to hold on to Shiro’s shoulders, letting his nonexistent balance rock him on his heels. He leaned close, letting his forehead lean against the other, resting, letting himself relax. He opened his eyes and Shiro was right there, eyes wide and near and inky black in the shade.   
  
“Your eyes are so wide.” Voice as quiet as a breath, unconscious of his words, their noses touching. Shiro is silent, continued to look up.   
  
He felt warm, wanted and content – surrounded in this haze, half-alcohol, half-cedar and Keith stepped closer, hands on his best friend’s hips.   
  
He knew, in the depths of sobriety, he’d never even dare to dream of this – of holding Shiro close, hands on the other’s hips, thumbs sliding under his shirt and caressing the skin there, feeling Shiro’s breathing close, sharing the same air. He can only dream about this on the days where he felt lost, aching for a sliver of what he wanted but never could have – dream about Shiro’s eyes, his nose pressed against his, lips slightly open. Maybe he was asleep, maybe he’s slipped into exhaustion and decided to just stop and think “hey, screw it. I’ll never have him, the least I can have is to dream about him”.   
  
It’s the kind of rationale that Keith would laugh at should he be sober, but he’s not. He’s drunk, drunk on alcohol and cedar and his want and need. Years of pent-up desire, all stemming from an extended hand holding a lone pencil aloft – an offering of more than just temporary friendship, something far deeper than Keith could have ever hoped for himself, and he allowed the walls he has held on for so long crumble.   
  
He started close, hands holding Shiro tight, and angled his lips – finding purchase against his best friend’s, slightly open, and Keith’s blinded as stars exploded in the back of his eyes as they close, in pleasure and surrender, finally tasting a decade of desire.   
  
Shiro trembled under his touch and he backed away slightly – for Keith to follow, eyes open slightly, confused, wondering.   
  
“Are you sure?” Shiro asked, in an almost sibilant manner. Quiet, barely above the din of Keith’s own beating heart, reimagining a war cry with every cell in his limbs burning hot.   
  
He’s never been so sure of anything in his entire life.   
  
He nodded and let all his doubts wash away from his mind as he pushed on, finding Shiro’s lips and feeling his best friend finally responding .   
  
Shiro groaned, quietly and silently, and he pushed back and Keith felt hands holding on, fastening to his shoulders, to his arms, promising to never let go.   
  
Shiro whispers. “Keith.”   
  
And, fuck, Keith wanted Shiro like this – pliant and needy and whispering his name, like a prayer on his lips.   
  
He can’t stop, can’t hold himself back as he kissed Shiro deep and searching, trying to put into that single kiss all the years of want, all the years of need, all the years spent looking across, wanting to reach out but choosing not to – because he was content, Keith was content to love from afar, love in the shadows, love in silence.   
  
But Shiro, in all his brightness, lured him in and Keith can’t help himself, can’t stop his own hands from resting on the other’s hips, tracing skin under the thin shirt, rising to his back, feeling the muscles and the strength underneath, knows that it will never hurt him.   
  
He feels Shiro’s own hands exploring his own body, slithering from back to front, holding him close, exploring.   
  
Keith broke away, and Shiro whimpered – mewled, and Keith felt his spirits soar at the sound – and he lets Shiro to suffer for a second, watching with lidded eyes as red blotches the other’s cheeks, lips looking positively ravished, before he leans back in and resumes.   
  
He doesn’t know how long they stand there, hands all over each other, locked by lip but Keith doesn’t notice, doesn’t even think about it when Shiro starts walking back, arms holding on to Keith, lips not planning to cease their attack until Shiro hits the bed and collapses back, Keith over him.   
  
Shiro’s eyes are wide, the light finally hitting them – dark flashing to ochre – and Keith leans over him, allowing himself this moment to take in his best friend, his most important friend, his Shiro.   
  
A face he’s known for the better part of his life, red and panting and enraptured.   
  
All because of him.   
  
All because of Keith.   
  
He did this.   
  
He did that.   
  
A powerful feeling, something far deeper than lust – something stronger than love or possession – something that scares Keith to put words to, a magnanimous cavern in his chest promising to consume him for all this, all for Shiro – rises to his throat, to his eyes and Keith blinked away salt and ash from them.   
  
“Keith?” Shiro whispered, eyes never leaving his.   
  
“I love you.” He answered, whispered. A quiet exclamation, the weight of the world crashing in the silence that followed.   
  
Every frame of Shiro he has burned in his mind: a pencil extended in the air, a smile under a fringe, his shadow chasing him across the field, a locked gaze in the middle of a stadium, ochre glowing under dim light, gold turned steel turned taupe, seared into the drum beating between Keith’s two lungs.   
  
He’s six, and twelve, and sixteen and twenty-two and he’s reminded that Shiro is everything.   
  
Shiro looked back at him, wonder and fondness and something bright, something good, something wonderful shines in his eyes and he doesn’t get a chance to respond – to return Keith’s words, or to deny them, as the other lavishes him again, in sweet kisses and the overwhelming heat suffused in his veins.   
  
Keith takes in his lips, addicted to the taste, knowing that he’ll never feel like this for anyone else, not this strong, and not this overpowering – lasting years across his lifetime.   
  
He pulls back, only to let his hand settle on Shiro’s stomach, feeling the ridges of his muscles there – tinged in softness now after a year-long absence from the field and Coach Kurogane’s care – and Keith finds it perfect all the same, feeling Shiro’s skin, knowing each crevice, each dip and plane like the back of his hand, but excited to explore it now – explore it in ways he could only dream of, then.   
  
Shiro doesn’t nod or answer, but Keith sees him say yes in the way his eyes don’t look away, in the way he feels Shiro’s hand lay flat on his thigh, caressing, wanting to feel him, too.   
  
That cavern-like feeling returns to his chest and Keith leans down, blinking back tears as he kisses Shiro deep, searching and bruising.   
  
His best friend’s shirt disappears in the run, taken away by Keith’s deft hands, followed by Shiro’s pants. When Keith touches the hem of Shiro’s boxers, he looks back and leans down, kisses Shiro deep.   
  
It feels good, feels good to have Shiro like this – finally able to have this moment.   
  
Pulling the black boxers away, Shiro lays under him – naked and bare. He’s seen this, all planes and crevices, over the years and in different contexts and Keith shouldn’t be surprised or excited, but he is.   
  
He takes in the tan planes of skin, slightly golden – the dark nipples – the slightly dark markings left by too tight boxers on the edge of his hips, the spots and marks across Shiro’s skin. He takes in the faint scar on Shiro’s knee, from a fall during a game; takes in the mismatched shading, from golden to pale to golden again.   
  
Shiro looks up at him, unashamed and just as excited.   
  
“Keith,” Keith looks at him, smiling and he knows his smile is lovestruck, bare and obvious even to the blind, to the cynical, to the apathetic. “I want to see you.”   
  
And even though Keith doesn’t have a body like Shiro, more curve than muscle, he relents. He wants Shiro to see him, wants to see him bare like the other, open and vulnerable and everything he’s ever kept hidden finally seeing light for the first time.   
  
He lets Shiro take his shirt off, lets the other’s hands roam over his chest, down his stomach to rest on his jeans and lets the other unbutton it, pulling them down. It’s not sexy, or attractive, the way Keith helps Shiro with it, sliding them off with his boxers but they don’t notice, too distracted and invested in finally seeing each other.   
  
Really seeing each other.   
  
And Keith leans back down, continues to press kiss after kiss on Shiro, trailing it down his bare neck, to his chest, lapping at his nipples and down his abdomen, feels Shiro’s hands in his hair - holding, sighing, breathing out whimper after whimper. It's music to Keith’s ears, imprinted in his mind and over his heart, unforgettable - and Keith knows, whatever the morning after may bring, he'll never forget now. A burning pyre lighting him inside, a memory to hold on through the lonely nights.   
  
Minutes turn to hours, and hours turn to millennia, and they remain locked – holding on to this, in this bubble of them, and when Keith fills Shiro, sheathes himself home – it’s like a lock clicks close, shut tight, and something in him finally, finally sets itself right.

* * *

Keith wakes to the feeling of someone combing through his hair. The fingers brushing them back are gentle, kind, loving – it feels like it’s his mother’s, and in his sleep-addled mind, he may have said that aloud as an amused chuckle fills the air.

He opens his eyes, blinks sleep and dreams away, and looks up to Shiro looking down on him.   
  
Daylight seeps into the room, filtered by the pale curtains, dimmed and soft and gentle and Keith feels safe – content – like this. The room is a bit cold, it always is in the morning, but the blankets over their bodies keep them warm and when Keith moved a bit, his legs tangled with Shiro’s, he looks back up – wondering, trying to search for regret and doubt in the other’s eyes, heart in his throat.   
  
Shiro was warm and fond, eyes soft and trailing over Keith’s face that had his hopes blossoming, alive once more after years of repose.   
  
“How long?” Shiro askd, still as close, hair falling into his eyes – golden – breathing quietly in the morning silence.   
  
Keith blinked, and smiled. “Since I was six.”   
  
Shiro smiled at this, and Keith saw him in a new light – saw him grow from bestfriend to something deeper, and Keith reached up slowly, letting his fingers hold on to Shiro’s, feeling them respond, holding on.

“I have a confession to make,” Keith cocked his head, chest tight as he feels Shiro’s thumb graze the side of his cheek. “I never got to say it last night.”

Keith bit his lips, hard enough—to feel pain, to wake him up if he was dreaming, to double check reality. “What?”

Shiro leans down, softly and gently, and before he presses his lips against Keith, breathes out the map that’s been drawn between the two of them. “I love you, too.”  
  
The kiss isn’t as forceful or bruising as it was last night, but it was just as deep, just as thorough. Something affirms itself inside Keith, finding solace and home in Shiro’s arms and he could have never imagined feeling this happy, this content.  
  
To finally have something he wanted for so long.  
  
  
  
  
  
And Keith could finally voice out the words he’s kept under lock and key for years, under friendship and camaraderie, in the silence of his own thoughts. Shiro’s bright smile shines like the morning star in a purple-lit dawn.  
  


* * *

  
Love makes no sense.   
  
Love has no name.   
  
Love drowns you in tears and then sets your heart on fire.   
  
Love has no fear.   
  
Love has no reason.   
  


* * *

  
“We should really stop this,” Shiro grumbled, crawling out of the attic window after Keith. The other rolled his eyes, still amused at Shiro’s quirks and antics, after all these years.   
  
“Hmm, funny you should mention that as  _ you _ were the one who suggested we do it here.” Keith answered back, grinning at Shiro. The other finally escapes the window and sits on the landing, setting his back on the wall, pouting at him. Honestly, even past the age of six, Shiro was still a child at heart.   
  
Keith wouldn’t change it for anything in the world.   
  
"If we fall and break our necks and die, we won't get to meet up with Aki tomorrow and she'll probably exorcise our spirits out of our corpses just to torture us." Shiro muttered and Keith guffaws, and he thinks - yeah, Aki would probably do that. They have a lot of catching up to do - a whole lot.   
  
He turned back and looks across the horizon, sees the roof slates of so many houses – more familiar than not, rotting with age, lovingly filled with nostalgia — and he sees it, the setting sun. The sky is painted a fiery gold, like molten flame. It reaches through the expanse, carving itself across the clouds, flooding everything in crepuscular fields of light.   
  
Flashes of memories run by Keith’s mind, and he’s reminded of so long ago. He remembers – remembers stadiums and secret smiles, a litter of empty beer cans and dimmed mornings locked in peaceful kisses, remembers laughter between friends and, Keith smiles to himself, he remembers an extended offer of kindness.   
  
“What are you grinning about?” Shiro groused, setting the box next to him and looking up at Keith. He shook his head, crouching and patting the other’s legs. Shiro pretends to kick him off, and Keith laughs – crawling closer and landing a small kiss on Shiro’s lips. A smile replaces the pout.   
  
Some things never change.   
  
They wait out the setting sun there, talking, reminiscing, hands held over the box, locking eyes and smiling. Sometimes the words die out, replaced by silence but it remains easy – they always have been way too comfortable with each other. Keith rubs his thumb across Shiro’s knuckles, recalling fights and make-ups, dates in odd places and being caught in compromising positions and when he tells Shiro this, they both laugh so hard they end up coughing, still in love.

Still so wondrously, painfully, beautifully, impossibly in love.

It’s not that they’re perfect – no one is, and Keith learns that: even Shiro. He learns that through the fights, the apologies, the way they learned and relearned everything they ever knew about each other, re-sewing the knots of friendship into something deeper, and although it took a while – they took a while – they’re still here, and they had no plans of leaving any time soon.   
  
When the sun disappears, and night comes, Shiro pats his hand and he stands, helping the other. They open the box, and set everything on whatever space they could. It’s a bit awkward, and they’re far larger than their eight-year old bodies, sidestepping each other on the landing but they don’t mind, sometimes laughing at each other, or laughing into each other as they move close (and Shiro inserts a kiss or two, Keith never refusing).   
  
With everything set out, Keith grins at Shiro and holds the sparkler up in the air. Shiro squints in the dark, trying to light a match.   
  
“If you accidentally set us on fire, I’m breaking up with you.” Keith says, deadpan.   
  
Shiro rolls his eyes, and even though it’s dark, Keith can still see it and he still feels that same thread of fondness coursing through him at Shiro picking up  _ his  _ own quirks. “Well, you’re stuck with me forever so you can suck it.”   
  
A lecherous grin. “Oh, I will.”   
  
A pinch to his side had Keith giggling, relenting and Shiro smiles. They’re easy, like that. Easy for each other.

As easy it was to hold a pencil between the spaces of desks, as easy as it was to reach out and feel the other reaching back—as easy as it was to know: that through the laughter and smiles, and even the arguments, that all glimmered with love. Forgiven and cherished, every second and permutation.

No longer oscillating between hope and fear, only now and always. 

Finally getting the match to light, Shiro carefully sets the fuse and in a beat, they both watch as the sparkler shoots up a flurry of colours – yellows, reds, and green – painting the night sky in a wave of light. Shiro pulls his own sparkler up and sets it alight, each puff thrusting out colors – one after the other.  
  
Keith looks at Shiro, finds the other already looking back, his secret smile on his lips and he’s brought back to a stadium, eyes locked through a distance and the burgeoning of a flame that promised to never go out.  
  
“Happy anniversary, Shiro.” Keith says, smiling, and when he looks at Shiro, he sees him then – twenty-two, sixteen, twelve, six.  
  
Shiro smiles back, eyes bright like the morning star – Andromeda, Orion and Pegasus shining in the deepness of ochre and gold, amidst exploding reds, yellows and greens. “Happy anniversary, Keith.”  
  
  
  
  
  
It was the sixth of August.  
  
They’ve been married for forty years.

**Author's Note:**

> Some of the other characters' names were from the older iterations of Voltron, js. Aki is a big tribute to Akira Kogane lol
> 
> I'm trying to get into the habit of writing really short stories like this - it's a refreshing change from the really long one-shots I like to do, and it's a great challenge in sharpening my brevity. I'm not gonna lie, though, it was painful not to draw this out but I hope you like it for what it is! I enjoyed writing this one today, so I hope you'll enjoy it too!
> 
> Come scream with me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/spaceboykenny) and on [Tumblr](https://spaceboykenny.tumblr.com/)!


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